We are often told in medical situations, where there is life, there is hope.
In what seems like a hopeless medical issue, doctors say time and time again, "The odds may not look good, but where there is life, there is hope." If someone is in a state where they may not walk again after a brutal accident, doctors will say that because there is life there is hope. Even if someone is in a coma, but there is brain activity, you'll hear them assure the loved ones of their patients -- "Where there is life, there is hope."
I've heard this outside of medical situations, too. Maybe because I don't have many friends in the medical field. In everyday living, where there is life, there is hope. Everyday is a brand new day, we're told. So there is hope for change, hope for improvement. Who knows what life will be like!
I think these things are great. I think it is so necessary to put that in perspective for someone who may just need to look on the bright side and see the hope through it all. But what if there is no life? What if there is loss? What if there is hurt? How am I supposed to feel? Where is my encouragement?
I want to counter that idea and tell you that where there is death, there is hope, too.
We seem to think that because there is life where there is hope, when there is no life, there is no hope. I know I've been there. Situations look so alive, so bursting with energy, life is going great and something unexpected happens in the next moment and the happiness fades away without asking to be excused.
Suddenly, the brain activity is out the window and you are flatlining just seconds later. And we do everything we can to revive it, to resuscitate it. We do everything in our power and it is still not enough. Where could the hope possibly be in that?
I can't be the only one who has found themselves making their bed in hell without a choice in the matter. I can't be the only one that has no say in the things that took "hope" from me. Things go wrong. "Death" comes our way, both actual and poetic.
A man in the Bible had that moment. His life came to a screeching halt. Jairus was a man of status, a man of influence. But he quickly learned that when it came to life, death, and the things he loved, status was not tangible. And above all, status was not a source of hope. He had heard through the grapevine that there was this man, a rabbi, that was completely out of the ordinary. See, other rabbis would just pray and recite scripture. But this guy, He was something else. This Jesus was so different that there were actually rumors of death threats going on about Him. However, no one could deny that He was a miracle maker. What that man of status needed was in fact a miracle.
Jairus had no other option.
The one thing we know status and influence can't buy is family. And the someone he loved, his daughter, was sick. Very sick.
What choice did he have?
He did everything in his power to get to Jesus -- the only option he had left. And Jesus agreed to go heal her. At last! A bit of hope restored. A breath of relief. But before Jesus could get to his daughter, they got the news that she had passed. The bearers of bad news actually said, "Why bother the teacher anymore?" (Mark 5:35b)
Where there is life, there is hope. And hope was surely gone.
Don't act like you've never been there. When Jesus tells you to pray for someone to come to church, we think that situation's too dead for God. Or sometimes we have prayers that we think are too big. That dream in your heart that God has been reminding you about? Oh yeah, I remember... but that one died a long time ago. Best not bother the teacher. It's dead anyway.
But they didn't know Jesus. They had no idea what they were in for. Do you?
Do you know the Jesus that wants your interruption?
He went to the house, finding a dead, sweet girl. A house where the hope had fled with the girl's last breath. He told them that there would be hope again, but they just laughed. Jesus, didn't you hear? This situation is dead. Hope left a long time ago. Jesus, haven't you heard that there is no life to be found?
But Jesus always sees the potential in dead things.
He kicked them out of the room and began His work.
He sat by her and said, "Little girl, get up." Apparently, that was all the situation needed. She got up and walked around, shocking everyone.
The only reason that there is hope in death is because death to Jesus is comparable to a hiccup for us: nothing. When we step out of the way and He steps in the way, He brings hope with Him. Too often we think a situation is too dead for Jesus. When He shows up in our dead circumstances, we don't need to apologize for the death, we don't need to bargain with Him. We don't need to cry about it or feel like we're bothering Him. When He shows up, all we need to do is point to the dead thing and step out of the way.
If you really knew Him, wouldn't you know Him enough to know and believe that there is hope because He stepped into the room, and that alone is enough?
This isn't just a New Testament theme. I think often about how much of the New Testament actually relates to the exodus of the Israelites out of Egypt into the Promised Land. But we often miss so much about the dead things coming to life because we're only looking at the story we want to see. The Bible doesn't say much about what packing and gathering and getting their affairs together, whatever that may look like in that time in history. But we know a few things: Pharaoh chased them. God showed up. He split the sea. Then He closed it back up.
In the next chapter, Exodus 15, we're led into a song of triumph with the Israelites. Something the Bible never tells us is how much courage it must have taken to take out their instruments and dust them off. There's an old horn in this bag. In that bag over there, it's an old lyre passed down with hope from a grandfather. Oh, those drums... They hadn't seen those in ages. They never had a chance to play in Egypt, or a reason. Freedom, singing out in it to the Lord with all they had -- it was just a dead dream. How could we sing our songs of hope when there is no hope? But God showed up. All they had to do was point to the dead thing, dust off their instruments, and watch Him restore hope where it once seemed lost.
"Little girl, get up."
Little girl, dirt is no place for you to rest on your hands and knees.
"Little girl, get up."
Little girl, brush it off.
"Little girl, get up."
Little girl, the veil is torn. Why are you so distant?
I've had times in my life where something just seemed too dead, even for Jesus. There was a lot of frustration. A lot of "God, where were you? Where are you?" A lot of tears, and if anyone knows me, they know I hate showing weakness. But when I was at my worst, Jesus showed up, and I did the only thing I had energy to do -- point to the dead thing and say, "Help."
Little girl, get up.
The words that restored hope into that house.
The words that returned life into a paling corpse.
The words my Savior tells me in every moment of my weakness.
Little girl, get up.
Just like that. The King was at it again. Actually, the King is always at it. God, as we may know, is a God of restoration. What some may not know, or forget at times, is that He is also very kind.
So maybe things look dead. But Jesus does not see things the way we do. When things look hopeless, let's not call it as we see it. Let's call it as He sees it: Just sleeping.